Please read  my previous post before you get into this one.

I started looking for options to perfect some dance moves to “elevate” my social status. The only way to play music at my home (to practice) was an old tape-recorder. But the sound was too much, in case my mother would tip-toe and hear it from the other side of the door of our house. Do note that being from the lower middle class, I did not have a room for myself. It was at this time that I was gifted a Sony Walkman, along with a cassette which had remixes of popular English songs, one being “Everybody”, by Backstreet boys. I saw potential in that song for dance. I do not need to use “volume 1” in the tape-recorder anymore. Now that the problem of playing a song for practice was solved, I looked for opportunities to learn steps and choreograph my piece. Fortunately, my mother was a bit socially active. She participated in almost all of the social gatherings in our housing society, because dad worked abroad. Also, she did those chores which needed going out, like going to the bank. I took advantage of that and watched as many dances in the TV as possible.

 

I successfully choreographed and practiced for days. I grew so confident that I practiced it even when my mom was home. Once she saw me practicing, and was quick to comment that this will cause a lot of shame to me, as I dance as awkwardly as a giraffe with its right front leg cut off and torn ligament in other knees. But that didn’t bring me down, much against her expectations. I waited for a stage to experiment, to know if I will be accepted by the audience. I waited, like a warrior waiting to hear the battle cry. And then, the wait was over.

 

My first stage was a modest one. It was the annual pooja day (usually on the Indian Republic Day) in our housing society, an evening when everyone showcases their skills, be it art, sports or flirting. There were running races, musical chairs, sack races and the likes of it. I stayed away from them this time, because I wanted all my energy for my first performance. I waited patiently. It was just before the dinner buffet, when the dance competition was announced. There were only three competitors, other than me. The three were the usual ones who showed up, and had very mediocre performances (think of those trolls in Facebook which show adolescents dancing with distorted backgrounds and shitty desi music). Then it was my turn. My mother warned me from going on the stage. Am I someone to listen?

 

I was wearing my best jeans and t-shirt. The music started, and I stopped feeling the real world. I was back there, in my living room, with my headphones and determination on. I had a lot to prove, and I danced. Just the way I wanted myself to. At some points, reality tries to sneak in, and shows me the audience cheering their hearts out. They never saw such a performance on that terrace. People clapping to the beats, hooting and shouting to keep me going. And on one corner, I could see my mother, with her handkerchief in her mouth. The music stopped, and I stopped, with the finishing move I planned, exactly in the same way I wanted. The crowd cheered on, and all my neighbors coming to me, patting me, hugging me and shouting “Bravo. Everyone asked one question to me, “You never told us that you go to dance classes”. One of my neighbors, who was really close to my mother, opened her bag of rants on my mom for not keeping her updated of my family’s whereabouts.

 

My mother was shocked at the reaction of others. She simply didn’t expect this to happen. But she was quick to adapt. She said that I practiced all of it and it was a result of a lot of practice and inspiration from her that I could do it. And she had her hand on my head when she hugged me. I was feeling so loved, after so long, that I couldn’t shout out the facts.

 

The whole event made me very confident. I started pursuing for more competitions. I starting bordering over-confidence, which led to some shaming and an obstacle to my dancing “career”. Find out next.

Advertisements

Link  —  Posted: November 2, 2016 in Uncategorized


I think I am going to be one of those people who get old and reflect, only to find their life worthless. They look back at what they did, and most importantly what they didn’t. They may get a smile or two when they think of their off-beat achievements, but those shoots go profoundly unnoticed as they sit in the roots of the rainforests of things they couldn’t achieve.

I was born in a middle class family with a to-heck-with-bread-winning attitude. Being such a “self-destructive combination”, I have always tried to fly higher, but I never seemed to use the “normal” way. My parents always warned that the way I am using to reach the sky is not “real and healthy”, and I must follow the “right” way! The biggest problem in my life as a boy were to stop playing, stop singing, stop dancing and start studying. Studying was the only point in my KPI for being a good boy – everything else was either a hobby or a waste of time. Hobbies were not quite encouraged though, as the child’s enthusiasm in it may eat up study time. Hobbies related to studies, like writing self-assigned homework, tidying study area, creating a weekly time table for studies, packing bags for the next day et cetera were  probably the only ones encouraged. Studying has be your ultimate goal as a child; or else, as the legend goes, you become a good-for-nothing tramp!

 

But I used to be a revolutionist (the first masala to the story). My parents barred me from singing, and I practiced for a competition for patriotic songs in the bathroom, (singers, ever practiced normal-high pitched songs in squeaky voices). Even though the results were devastating (was oblivious to that), I still remember spending half an hour each every time I go, just to practice. It may be normal for a boy who attained puberty to stay back in the bathroom for that much time (if you know what I mean), but I was still 9. This unexpected downtime did raise suspicion. I had to make something up. I used to take bottle caps to bathroom from the day I felt that my father wasobserving me. Once when he asked, I explained that I get late because I play in the bathroom with them. I used to make swirls in the water bucket with my hands and let the caps float in them, and imagine them as pirate ships caught in a swirl in the sea. And I sing songs to dramatize the scene. As they already had an impression that I was borderline crazy, they bought the story. But going back, I would never believe my child if she ever says that. Who sings Indian patriotic songs when a pirate ship sinks?

 

Thus, I never practiced in full range of my voice and I never knew my limits. To top that, I had no idea about song selection. No teachers to teach, no singers to guide, and my competition had all that. I lost fair and square in those few stages I participated. I never wanted to quit though, and my bathroom sessions continued. But then, my parents were not too oblivious about my participations. Slowly, and emotionally, they barred me completely from it.

 

I started growing up, and when I reached 7th grade, I saw around myself that a certain amount of social status must be acquired in order to survive the highly cosmopolitan life of a backward Mumbai suburb. And I saw an easy way to get a lot of it. A classmate of mine, who looks half of his age (imagine that), showcased a brilliant western dance performance and he got elevated to the alpha status overnight. I saw the real power of a stage performance right there. I wanted to become that rock-star which he is now. But hey, do I dance?

 

I thought of getting expert advice on it. But because that comes at a price, I thought of seeking some free advice. No free online forums or Youtube videos were accessible back then, so I sought asylum at the only social media platform that was available for free to school kids, the television. The problem there (the list of problems doesn’t end here) was western dance was available in channels banned in Indian families, namely the MTV and Channel V. Dead end? I don’t think so. I can never quit that easily. But I need to find a solution where I can watch channels which have “highly explicit sexual content” in front of my parents for hours. Will I do that, find out next…

 

 

 

Image courtesy: http://theodysseyonline.com/fidm/6-quotes-relatable-life-lessons-learned-2015/257586

Link  —  Posted: April 1, 2016 in My Experiences..., Uncategorized


To all my dear friends who think that the Govt is being ruthless by banning India’s Daughter, here’s my take:
This is all a game by US and UK to stall the growth of India as a super power. The timing of the documentary is suspicious. Exactly when the Indian PM office is propagating its stand on Make in India, and the Indian Government is in talks with other Governments. Now whenever our representative asks a govt to invest with them in India, their representatives can easily insult us, saying, “To heck with investment in defence, go protect your daughters first!”
While these outside media funded by jealous/ambitious governments went ahead with the smear campaigns, many of the most revered Indian citizens, including actors, politicians, idols from many walks of life, helped them (unknowingly, and sometimes to gain mileage/fame) in their work to tarnish India.
Does anybody know that UK hs been a venue for countless horrific rapes, not just in the dark ages, but also in the 21st century? No. Nobody does. Everyone is content when they think that it is one of the safest place for women. An illusion, if you ask me.
How did they qualify themselves to point fingers against my country? HOW DARE THEY…? Your forefathers have relentlessly raped and plundered us for about one and a half centuries for God’s sake, ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?
Here’s my stand on what to do of these inhuman rapists. If you ask me, I would suggest stripping them naked, tying them spread-eagle to some place (poles, struts) so that people can see, and when they get hungry standing there, cutting their scrotum off and feeding them along with a dash of masala. After that, lets give them a deep gash on their penis, and let them either bleed to death, or let the vultures or crows feast on them… let’s do something like this and stop this inhuman madness by a few morons, rather than letting some outside power letting a smear campaign loose on OUR Nation. Let us not let someone from outside break the sovereignty of our Constitution by breaking our rules and do it for the bad of our nation. In short, what I meant to say is, THEY RAPED US IN FRONT OF THE WORLD, IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!
We condemn Pakistan when they fire from their end every now and then. This is the British way of “violating ceasefire”. Enjoy the 21st century war methodology using the ultimate weapon, media! An effective tool can be a deadly weapon in wrong hands, and the British just proved it, showing their firepower!

 

 

 

PS:  I know, bad English! I tried to rape the language in protest of their heinous act, but looks like I am not a good rapist after all! 😛


I am on my way back from Kerala, after being a part of the funeral rites of my paternal grandmother. The news of the start of her eternal journey was unbelievable, and the details unfathomable for a 25 year old like me. Yes, she was 85 years old; she had a defect in her heart valves. Her death was certain when she was admitted to the ICU two times. Only then, not afterwards. The fact that she came out of it had put me at ease. She was the usual, with her body, too old for the young soul, radiating the liveliness of the soul it housed. The serene, yet talkative, commanding yet filled with warmth, loving caring soul. She was the best mother, the best grandmother, and the best mother-in-law. Mother-in-laws in India have fearsome reputations in them, especially in Kerala, where the Matriarchal system vested enormous power in the hands of the eldest woman in the family. But her behavior, her love towards her daughter-in-laws was like mothers love, away from their real mothers.

She returned to her normal self after all that trauma. She ate normally, and talked normally. But this one day, the 9th July 2013, was meant for this great soul to join the Parmatma, the ultimate soul. She had the most fitting death any soul could have dreamed of.

Evening. It was 8 o’ clock, time for her dinner.  She was so punctual in her daily matters that if she doesn’t eat on time, she doesn’t eat at all. But she was not hungry that day. It was somewhat normal, her aversion to food was considered to be due to her age. She said, in her usual playful manner, “You dare not give me anything to eat now, I ain’t hungry.” But her daughter, my appachi had already brought in a plate of piping hot steamed tapioca for her. Seeing that, grandma said, “Go, give it to him, let him eat it for me.”, pointing towards the porch, where her son-in-law, my uncle was sitting.  She dutifully gave it to my uncle. Grandma said, “I just need a glass of water, nothing more” Her elder daughter, who was sitting, right next to her, rose to get a glass of water for her. She had returned from Mumbai when grandma was admitted in the hospital. She had gone to Mumbai to stay with her son and daughter after the loss of her husband last year.  

She brought in the glass of water and helped grandma drink it, by placing the tip of the glass onto her lips. She didn’t have the slightest idea that she was being given the privilege, as the eldest of grandma’s sons and daughters, to give her the last drop of water. Grandma gulped down the first mouthful, ensured that it reached her stomach, and tried taking the second gulp. Something interfered. Grandma,very normally, leaned backwards, towards the backrest of the sofa on which she was sitting, and took in a deep breath, very silently, closing her eyes. Without any movement, she sat still. The world went blank for her.

After the relentless laboring for 85 long years, her heart, the home of the sweetest of love for her near and dear, stopped working, and with that, she went away. Away, from the body, that housed such a great soul.  Away, she slipped into our memories.

Seeing no movement in her mother, valyappachi let out a blood-curling scream. Her younger sister and husband rushed in. Instinctively, the more practical uncle searched for a pulse in her veins, which were hard to find. He called dad immediately. He tried to listen to her heart beat, he feared the worst, and he did not want to imagine that. He immediately transferred her to the straw mat, which appeared on the ground out of nowhere. He didn’t see appachi spreading it out. Everything was getting clouded. After placing her down, he walked out to the porch, waiting for dad to come, with no clue whatsoever as to how to tell the eldest son of grandma that she is no more. He could see a lone headlight turning into his house.

My dad, sensing the urgency in uncle’s voice, sprang up, ordering mom, “Dress up fast, take whatever money you can grab on”. He went away, doing the same, getting out of his indoor attire and dressing up, faster than firemen donning their suits. Mom followed suit. She was the quickest woman I have ever seen, the best a man like my dad can get. Dad was a perfect mixture of grandpa and grandma. He had the strictness of an army man embedded with the ability to show endless love and affection.

Dad gunned the Discover 150 through the roads with mom on the pillion. It just took a record 7 minutes from the call to his reaching at appachi’s porch. It was just then when uncle seated himself. Dad rushed in, only to hear uncle muttering, “Amma poi”(Mother left). Dad, couldn’t lose hope so fast. He knew amma cannot leave him like that. It was yesterday he was talking to her, feeding her spoonfuls of kanji to her. Amma can say her nos, but that cant stop her from eating a full bowl. They get so engrossed in talking that both get seuprised that only a little kanji is left in the bowl. Amma then joined hands and pleaded playfully, “Please stop. I know you want to see my belly explode, don’t you”. Then dad gets her into pep talks, just to see the lively self of his mother.

He rushed in to a scene which was not what he expected. Amma was resting on the mat, and she was too quiet. “But why are they making such a fuss over it?” His mind worked hard to keep the reality from dawning on him. He immediately yanked forward and rested his ear on the chest on which he used to sleep when he was a little baby. Something gurgled from inside. Its her heart. Dad shouted, “Why are you all crying, its not over yet. Go call the doctor, now.” Uncle rushed in and dialed in his cell phone, and talked briefly to the doctor. Meanwhile, dad was doing what he learnt from all the first aid courses and drills he was a part of. He pumped her heart, tried to bring it to rhythm. But within him, he knew what he heard in that chest. He knew that it was her mother’s last words, which she had kept locked in her heart for her eldest son. It was my time to go. We will meet again. He was pumping just to ease his sisters, to ease himself, somehow.

 

The doctor rushed in, doing all his checks, confirmed the death of the mother of 6,  my grandma.

08:30pm. The world, for a family,  flipped over in just half an hour.

 

 

Part 2 follows…

Things are getting serious.

Posted: July 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

I am starting to write a few blogs which are directly related to my life. Not an autobiography in real sense, but just an account of things happening around. This may be a new start, may be I am expanding my horizons as a writer. I can’t assure you that. All I can assure you is that whatever I am going to write further, is serious.

These are just my views on the things happening around me.


article-1221070-06D20556000005DC-129_468x405

CH – 1
It never depends on how she looks,
Looks wither with time!
The only thing permanent, is how she cooks,
For you!

CH – 2
The way she cooks for you depends on what you buy for her!
And if you buy her chicken and bread, she makes you burgers!

P – 1
Even if she doesn’t make sauce at home,
which can be more healthy to make you live more,
If she makes your mornings pleasing with
A nice cup of tea!
Even if she doesn’t fry chicken like KFC,
She still can make a decent Indian Curry!

(CH – 1)It never depends on how she looks,
Looks wither with time!
The only thing permanent, is how she cooks,
For you!

P – 2
The girl who doesn’t let you forget,
To have your food before you go to work!
The girl who reminds you to take your lunch  bag,
Which she prepares with all her love,
With all the good veggies and meat in the stove,
is the one you need to choose!

(CH – 1)It never depends on how she looks,
Looks wither with time!
The only thing permanent, is how she cooks,
For you!

(CH – 2)The way she cooks for you depends on what you buy for her!
And if you buy her chicken and bread, she makes you burgers!

(Excuse me ladies, please take it on the lighter side!)

Image Courtesy: www.dailymail.co.uk


images

CH – 1
It never depends on how she looks,
Looks wither with time!
The only thing permanent, is how she  looks,
At you!

CH – 2
The way she looks at you depends on the way you treat her!
And if you treat her like a princess, you’ll be her prince!

P – 1
Even if she doesn’t have dreamy locks of hair,
Which run upon your face to wake you up,
If she makes your mornings pleasing with
An honest smile on her face!
Even if she doesn’t  have those curves,
On which you can rest your head,
If she keeps you warm in the winter,
With a warm hug and a kiss, You’ll know…

(CH – 1) It never depends on how she looks,
Looks wither with time!
The only thing permanent, is how she  looks,
At you!

P – 2
The girl who doesn’t let you forget,
That love is not just you and me!
That girl who reminds you of the world  outside love,
Who reminds you of realities,

Who makes sure that you succeed is the one who you need to choose!

(CH – 1)It never depends on how she looks,
Looks wither with time!
The only thing permanent, is how she  looks,
At you!

(CH – 2)The way she looks at you depends on the  way you treat her!
And if you treat her like a princess, you’ll be her prince!


Someone just put a ring on my finger.

A ring of gold, shining bright yellow,

With the name of that someone on it, bold and polished.

A strong ring, bolder, bigger,

Than it actually looks, and the yellow glow,

Having the aura of being something special, to be cherished,

For a life-time, forever,

On my right hand, nowhere else it will go!

A promise, that I will have it embellished,

With her hand or hair, sooner or later,

When she rests on me, when I will show,

The love, in my heart, which I had preserved,

For her so long. Sooner or later,

The moment to which I will grow,

Will come, and I stand unprepared,

My bones trembling to shatter,

Like a boy 5 year old,

Gazing at a raging sea for the first time, battered.

The ring reminds me now the bitter

Side of what it means to throw

Myself into the sea of promises, I did

See the ring slides in easier,

But its hard to remove.

The skin under it, pale as dead.

It squeezes my finger,

Where now I see my head, and the squeezed neck below,

The responsibilities keeping my neck squeezed,

I need to be stronger,

To face the unexpected, I need to grow,

The greatest fear is from the unexpected,

To face the biggest fear,

I need to stand strong,

Just like the great mountains, never stirred,

By the storms, forever.

With the words that “No,

I wont fall back, no matter what. As I promised,

I will be there, forever.

No trying situation, can give a blow,

To my determination, that I will have it embellished,

With your hair, your fingers, forever,

When you need me. Together we will glow

As for each other, we were destined.

Our rings will glow together,

And your right hand, I will hold,

With mine, and see their shine, as with love they are polished!

 

Photo Courtesy: www.aliexpress.com

Who am I ??

Posted: April 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

(The question mark multiplies in the Sequels, increasing those questions in your mind.)

Once upon a time, all our forefathers were farmers. The only problem with farming is that you do not have any guarantee; it is like investing in a volatile stock in the market. Nature’s impartiality used to take toll on farmers, time to time, while giving the fruits of hard work alternately. But due to that, our forefathers knew the true value of food, true value of the realities in life, hunger, prosperities, calamities, happiness, finding everything in nothing, and nothing in everything. Nowadays, people take food for granted, and money is the new food. Centuries old customs and traditions have been broken, and the effects of the same can be seen around you, from global issues like pollution and global warming, to those extra pounds you have. But yes, this is nothing but the theory of evolution explained. We are evolving, but wait, we must not get out of focus (Actually, we are out of focus). The same issue which humans had centuries ago, is still here, selfishness. That bug is what has to be removed first, so that we can do some talking.

Why am I talking all that philosophical rubbish? Well, let me tell you why. Look at the FAQs below.

What are we doing?

Following.

Following what?

A path laid down by our forefathers.

Why?

Because it is safe

(No it doesn’t end here) Safe for whom?

The self.

Self. Yourself. That old bug still in our systems. That malware acting as if it is a part of our operating system. We are selfish.

Chanakya had said something long back when he was alive.

“There is some self-interest behind every friendship. There is no friendship without self-interests. This is a bitter truth.”

Universal truth, I must say. Does that mean that every friendship is because of the bug? Yes. That means that selfishness is a necessary bug to go forward, to follow the Apna Bachao theory and follow the path put down by our forefathers. All you are into is making money, saving it, creating and looking after your family, enhancing your standard of living (that one’s unending process, even baby making ends at 60), and making more money.

To be continued.

Image Courtesy

http://www.sodahead.com

http://frozen-scumbag.deviantart.com/art/Cartoon-Zombies-51192670

Who am I? – Part 1

Posted: April 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

This question has always been taking rounds in the empty space in my head (You guessed it right, the space where the brain is supposed to be). They say that life is something where you have to discover, but they never say what. Peace? Prosperity? Fountain of Youth?

I do not want to claim that I am very old and I have attained wisdom. I will be lying in a worse fashion compared to politicians.  But I write out of despair, I write out of the need, I write because I just don’t understand, literally. I’ve heard people saying a lot of definitions regarding life, an example being “life is what comes between birth and death”. Really?

Are we just folks who live just to die? Is life a wait for death to come? There is, obviously a difference between us and dogs, but hey, aren’t we simply living a dog’s life? Waky waky in the morning, study or go to work, make money, meet people, eat, doze off for some time, start work again/run here and there mindlessly in the office, drink some stuff, eat more, exercise, be with family, have fun with friends, mate, have kids and sleep at night. Dogs do the same. Wake up, hunt or learn to hunt for food, meet other dogs, eat, take a nap, run helter-skelter, drink, eat, do some sparring with others(exercise), be with family, have fun, mate, have off-springs, sleep. Everything, except for the dress and shelter part, is just the same.

My question is, do we require this entire struggle-o-mania we are into? Is it necessary to be what we all are now (the working class)? Do we really have to follow the pack? Yeah, the answer is no. All right Mr. Know-it-all, tell me one thing. If you know the answer, why the!@#$%^&* are you still being what you are, a follower? Why do you need to be such a dumb guy who still is having that feeling of save, save, save, and try making life better? And what if it reaches that better condition? You try to make it even better. In the process, we forget to live. We forget to enjoy those moments in life where you have to have some quality time, with your loved ones, or with yourself.

.

.

.

A Sequel Follows… Stay tuned

Image courtesy

loosemoorings.org